Death Drop (33 page)

Most sailors were unrefined and unruly, but they were honorable down to their bones and Dezmara felt like she was cut from the same cloth. She secretly liked sailors more than pilots—they always seemed more diverse and interesting. This one had a long neck that was lined by a strip of dark, bristly hair that stood on end and ran onto his head, ending just before his brow in a tangled mess. The fur that was visible outside of his shirt—including the rest of his neck, the backs of his hands, and his face—was cream colored with black streaks. The sailor was focused intently on the mystery person across from him as he spoke between gulps of stout.

Dezmara turned down the background noise another level as the band finished the current song and the crowd cheered excitedly. The only thing that was sounding through the kranos now was exactly what she wanted: news about Humans.

“Are you sure?” the mystery man asked in a quivering voice.

“That’s what I heard—
Human
!” the sailor said. His voice was high and nasally—like a constant whine—and it hurt Dezmara’s ears to listen to him.

“And it’s
here
? On Luxon?”

“At this very moment!”

In eight tormented years, she had never heard anything so definitive: there was another Human and it was close by! But was it true? Where did these two hear it? Dezmara’s heart was pounding in her ears, and she had to dial up the volume on the travelers until it was almost unbearable.

“They say it’s a
she
, a female,” the sailor said as he raised his brow and held out his mug toward his obscured companion for emphasis.

Dezmara’s heart skipped a beat and a subconscious spark flickered somewhere in the back of her mind that told her something wasn’t right, but it was too weak to overcome her curiosity. She leaned farther over the bar. Streaks of sweat ran down her face beneath the stifling helmet as her heart hammered against her breast like machine gun fire. She grabbed the small revolver she had swiped from Buego and moved it into the outside pocket of her flight jacket.

“Who would’ve guessed,” the mystery man said in a hushed voice. “The Ghost is Human and a female!”

Dezmara stumbled backward as the tiny spark of fear in her mind erupted into an inferno that consumed her entire body. “It’s a goddam trap—SHIT!” she cursed. Her arms flailed to her sides as she tried to keep from falling. She crashed into several people behind her and they forcefully shoved her back. She caught her balance and whipped around, reaching under her jacket and gripping the handle of the right blade on her back. But instead of a threat, Dezmara turned to find that she inadvertently set off a chain reaction of common, youthful exuberance. The kids she slammed into were passing the gesture on to their neighbors and bouncing to the rhythm of the music.

She turned back toward the bar as she reached up and pressed the controls on the kranos to reestablish contact with Simon and the
Ghost
. “Simon, come in! We’re in trouble—we’ve got incoming!” she shouted into the helmet. “Simon, do you copy? They know who I am! They know I’m Human! Simon, goddamit, COME IN!” She waited for an acknowledgment as she gulped the sickening, humid air beneath her hood in panicked breaths. But all she heard from the other side was the terrifying, empty crackle of static.

She quickly scanned the room as her survival instincts kicked into overdrive. She had no idea where the multiple passages behind the Triniton statues that lined the walls of the main room went, and she knew taking any one of them was a fool’s gamble. Her best bet was to go back the way she came: past the giant doorman, up The Boulevard, through The Boneyard and the marketplace, through the heavy door, and across the long dock to the
Ghost
. Now that she thought about the route, it sounded like a fool’s gamble too, but at least she was familiar with the path and knew something about what stood in her way. She glanced up toward the balcony and saw Buego standing between two statues, talking excitedly over his shoulder. He motioned toward the wrist Dezmara had almost snapped like a twig and then pointed directly at her. The big doorman appeared alongside him with kill-crazy eyes and a sour grimace. Buego flashed a slimy grin at Dezmara as the bouncer quickly disappeared behind the sloping wall to the right. “Here he comes,” she said to herself. “He’s coming to collect his bounty, and I doubt he’ll go for the ‘alive’ option.”

Dezmara took off at a dead run. She cut nimbly through the crowd and locked her sights on the bar where it met the back wall on the right hand side. She sprinted ahead, gaining momentum with each stride of her long legs. She crouched slightly, building power for her escape move, when suddenly the path before her darkened with the wobbly shapes of two drunken sailors. Dezmara lowered her right shoulder and knocked the man closest to her back into the crowd and then gave his friend similar treatment with her left side. The path to the countertop was clear again but she had wasted tremendous energy and a sliver of doubt pierced her thoughts. “C’mon, girl!” she said sternly as she gnashed her teeth and leapt from the floor.

She sailed over the heads of two patrons, and her boots landed lightly, one after the other, between their half-empty glasses before she was airborne again, gliding toward the left arm of the fountain statue at the back of the bar. She bounced lithely from the arm to the statue’s head and, without a moment’s pause, launched herself up the wall. She stretched out, grabbing the ledge and pulling hard to continue her ascent. As she crested the top of the barrier, she tucked into a ball and somersaulted onto the pathway below. She landed at the foot of the Triniton statue she had hid behind earlier just as the two lovers that had taken her spot were exiting. They fell backward with frightened looks and a few choice words before scampering back into the cave.

Dezmara didn’t waste any time looking back down the corridor to see where the bouncer might be. She was running all out for the exit. She hoped that he had rounded the end of the wall onto the main level before she had dropped down onto the passage, or that he was too focused on his task to notice the commotion behind him. She took some comfort in knowing that, even if he did notice her not-so-subtle landing, she had a head start, and she doubted he was fast enough to catch up with her. Unfortunately, Dezmara was wrong on all accounts.

Her sudden appearance on the walkway startled more than just the loving couple. Several other partygoers jumped back with frightened jolts and loud curses as Dezmara dropped between them. The doorman, though brutish, was not entirely stupid. After a while, any bouncer worth his salt developed a keen eye for any movement that didn’t fit naturally into the scene, anything that could mean trouble, and the scattering of people caused by Dezmara’s escape certainly qualified. Something flashed in the corner of his eye, and the doorman stopped at the end of the aisle. He turned suddenly to see his quarry splitting the crowd of people as she headed for the exit, and he roared with contempt. The big ape’s giant fists pounded the ground, and his short legs pumped against the cold stone floor as he charged after Dezmara with ferocious speed. Terrified customers pressed themselves flat against the walls as his huge shoulders brushed past them in a rush of air and angry grunts.

The small shutters around the oculo—the kranos’s rear ocular port –retracted and Dezmara saw a vision of the doorman rushing at her on the right side of her view. The small numbers tracking his distance didn’t have time to form complete digits and became nothing more than a pulsing, orange warning light. Dezmara crested the lip of the incline as it flattened out into the foyer and wheeled around just as the numbers in the helmet flashed to zero. The tails of her jacket fluttered behind her as she turned in a crouching spin. She began to reach into her pocket for the small revolver when she paused for a split second, caught between her will to survive and her instinct to protect others. She decided that the blades would be perfect for an up-close brawl; there would be less chance of collateral damage. With her mind made up, she changed tacks and reached for her left blade. Unfortunately for Dezmara, the bouncer knew exactly what he was going to do and didn’t hesitate for one instant.

The behemoth slammed into her with bone shattering force, and she let out a sickly whimper as the air was forced from her lungs. The green display inside the kranos blurred as Dezmara’s head bounced off the floor with a loud crack. The screen cleared itself as she skidded to a stop in the center of the balcony. She rolled to her knees and struggled to fill her lungs, but she couldn’t. Her brutal attacker rushed in again, swinging forward on his oversized arms and bringing the shin on his stumpy right leg to bear on her exposed flank. The powerful impact was accompanied by an audible crunch, and a ghastly howl spilled from the kranos as Dezmara was launched from the ground and turned a complete revolution in the air. She crashed back down to the floor with her chest on fire, but she couldn’t inhale to extinguish the flames. The bouncer had scooped her up from behind in his vise-like arms and was crushing her to death.

He was turning in the center of the floor with Dezmara weakly writhing in his grasp, showing off his authority and power to the large crowd that had gathered at the top of the path and around the outer edge of the balcony. The corners of her vision faded into hazy dark clouds blotted with bursts of dull, yellow light. Just before she closed her eyes forever, Dezmara noticed Buego laughing and taking money from disappointed onlookers. He had bet against The Ghost. “Bad…move…Buego,” she sputtered.

Dezmara felt a charge of power and strength she had never felt before surge from somewhere deep inside: it was a strange feeling—something more than adrenal—almost primal. She clamped down on the giant’s arm just below his hand, and his maniacal laughs of victory turned to confused grunts and then painful yelps as the bones in his wrist snapped in Dezmara’s iron grip. She dropped several feet to the floor, rolled forward on one shoulder, and turned to face her opponent as the bouncer released her to clutch his injured arm. As she tumbled across the floor, gasping for precious air, she hoped there would be enough time to grab her blades, but the injury to her attacker’s arm only increased his thirst for blood.

Fueled by rage, the bouncer sped forward on one hand; then cocked his good fist back and let it fly, hoping to detach Dezmara’s head from the rest of her body. But she had something else in mind. Dezmara ducked just in time, and the brute’s haymaker cut the air over her head with a swoosh, barely missing its mark. She sprang from her crouched position and jammed her knee into the bouncer’s ribcage with a fearsome battle cry. Dezmara took some satisfaction as she felt several bones give way under the blow, but she knew it wasn’t enough to stop him. The bouncer winced and bowed forward. Unfortunately for him, he was at the perfect height for Dezmara to end it. The instant her boots touched the ground, Dezmara leapt into the air and turned slightly back toward the bouncer’s head. She aimed her other knee at the point where his formidable jaw attached to his big, knotted skull and brought it up with as much force as she could.

The bouncer flopped to the floor with a limp thud. Dezmara couldn’t be sure whether she had broken his jaw or killed him or both, but her primary objective was accomplished—he was out cold. Pain shot up from her broken ribs and stole her breath again, but she didn’t have time to slow down. She frantically searched the mass of onlookers that had gathered to watch the fight for the piece of trash barkeep that had sprung the trap to catch her—Buego. Dezmara guessed that he knew what perils Luxon had in store for her, and she intended to find him. She pushed hurriedly past the jeering customers on the losing end of the bet as well as those who had taken the long shot and were now shouting their thanks and patting her on the back as she dashed for the exit.

The moment she broke free of the crowd, she saw what she was looking for. There, several yards in front of her, was the rotund shape of Buego shambling up the tunnel as fast as he could and casting nervous glances over both shoulders. There were several angry customers on his tail, and she guessed that he had run for the exit without paying what he owed as soon as the doorman fell. He caught sight of Dezmara and let out a whimpering cry as he pushed off of the tunnel wall to propel himself faster toward The Boulevard.

Dezmara’s ribs ached as she sprinted along, but the pain kept her sharp. She easily passed the mob of gamblers and streaked out onto The Boulevard just in time to see the crooked bartender mount a flashy machine and bring its polished, exposed motor humming to life. Dezmara dashed under the green glow of the sign that bore Buego’s name and stepped directly in front of the craft. She stepped back a few feet, bracing her ribs with her left hand, and then let her right hand hover outside the pocket with the revolver in it. Buego’s terrified eyes narrowed as he revved the motor until it redlined, threatening to run her down. Dezmara snatched out the pistol and spun it backward around her finger, stopping it expertly with the barrel aimed between his eyes. She actually wasn’t a very fast draw at all, even with a real pistol rig; to her, spinning revolvers was just cool, and she practiced the technique once in a while for fun. But, at this moment, to Buego she looked like the deadliest pistolier in the universe.

“Hey, my friend,” he stuttered, “still wanna buy that barrel of talsey and a half-round of stout? It’s no problem, it’s on the house!” He let the engine relax to a low idle as he stared spinelessly at Dezmara. “Here, I have your money…t-t-take it,” he said as he moved to reach inside his vest and refund the cost of Dezmara’s talsey as well as her sizable tip.

“Don’t move!” she said as she stepped forward and held the barrel of the gun steadily between Buego’s wide, frightened eyes. “What’s the deal with that damn bot? The preacher—is it armed, what’s the deal?”

“I don’t…don’t know what’chur talkin’”

Dezmara cut him off by cocking the hammer on the revolver and pressing the barrel against his green, greasy forehead.